me tell you. He was in. He looked me over and began to guy me. I didn’t say a word, but got out the walnut shells and began to roll the little ball on the table. I whistled a tune or two, and then I started up the old formula.
“‘Step up lively, gentlemen,’ says I, ‘and watch the little ball. It costs you nothing to look. There you see it, and there you don’t. Guess where the little joker is. The quickness of the hand deceives the eye.’
“‘steals a look at the farmer man. I see the sweat coming out on his forehead. He goes over and closes the front door and watches me some more. Directly he says: “I’ll bet you twenty I can pick the shell the ball’s under now.”
“‘After that,’ goes on Andy, ‘there is nothing new to relate. He only had $860 in cash in the house. When I left he followed me to the gate. There was tears in his eyes when he shook hands.
“‘“Bunk,”’ says he, ‘“thank you for the only real pleasure I’ve had in years. It brings up happy old days when I was only a farmer and not an agriculturist. God bless you.”’”
Here Jeff Peters ceased, and I inferred that his story was done.
“Then you think”—I began.
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